Just trying to get along in this vast universe :3

You still cry out when he peels the tape away, your lips bruised and bloody. He's quick to kiss them, licking into your mouth, even when you cringe away. Poor thing, still unsure, still not understanding how much he loves you. If you can't understand his words then he'll have to show you with his body.

The duct tape on your wrists is older and fraying, and he cuts it off, taking the weak blows easily when you strike at him. You're dehydrated and hungry, too small and worn out to fight back, a mouse scratching at the floor with its tail in the trap. König only needs a minute to roll you over, twist your arms behind your back, push them high, and wraps a new length of tape around your wrists and neck, making a collar, solid grey that he longs to replace with something prettier.

As you cough, arching your back, he cuts the tape from your ankles and spreads them. Soft, soft, scratched and dirty skin under his fingers, up your calf, past your knees. You haven't been kind to yourself, scraping and wriggling around, and König delicately brushes the soft, sensitive little folds between your thighs. Your legs try to close, tightening around him, and his cock aches.

"Soon," he promises you, and bends to kiss you instead, licking up sweat and old piss, the stink of fear slowly fading away to warmth, to wetness, and the first time your pussy clenches around his tongue he comes untouched, moaning against your clit. You're gasping and pleading, still arched in the tape, your shoulders straining and belly tight, and König doesn't stop, pulls out his cock and uses his cum to slick his hand, stroking himself, slurping down what you give him. You taste delicious, thick and heavy on his tongue, even as your struggles fade.

You come again for him as he rolls your clit through his teeth, sucks at it like candy, and he feels the way your body shudders and gives up, gives in, lets him take care of you the way you deserve.

As a reward, he cuts the tape on your throat, leaving only your wrists still bound, and sits you upright. Your bottom lip splits as he gives you his cock, blood leaking onto his balls. Your eyes are so big and soft and beautiful, looking up at him, pleading.

You just need to accept that he's going to take care of you. He can help you, make you feel better, so long as you let him. He thinks you can handle it, flexible enough to accept the changes without breaking under them- he hopes you can.

You're so soft and wet between your thighs still, hips rocking as you suck his cock, and König leans down to palm your breast. Sweet, perfect flesh, nipple hard when he twists it, your little wince so cute. He loves taking your mouth like this, loves the way you gag when he goes too far. Loves coming across your tongue with a low moan of pleasure, spurting it over your teeth, making you swallow- and a new strip of duct tape to seal it all in as you whimper, holding it tight to your skin the wet gulps of your throat around his cum prompting König to kiss your hair, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

"Perfect, sweet little pet," he praises, and stands you up to wobble over the grate in the floor. You whine behind the tape, twisting in his grasp, but it's as ineffective as your fight earlier- the only sustenance he's given you for three days has been his cum, but he wants to establish a routine for when he gets you back to strength enough to take his cock- so he forces your legs apart, and strokes soothingly over your belly, spreads your folds and rubs at your clit with the heel of his hand pushing hard on your lower belly.

You moan and jerk, but you can't stand up well enough and finally sag against König's body, weeping, though he wishes you'd save the water. Your clit pulses under his fingers, and finally you clench and a weak spurt of piss comes out, splashing down into the grate. He doesn't want you to get a UTI.

Routine completed, he scoops you up, peppering you with kisses again. You're limp and dazed when he lays you down on the soft cot. No real bed yet, not until he knows you won't hurt yourself on it, or try to escape, so he leaves your wrists twisted in the tape and lays you on your front, propping your head on a pillow, your hips on another, and loops the duct tape across your ankles.

The vibrator is small, but you still clench around it, pussy soft and wet enough he can easily settle it against the swollen nerves inside your body, more tape sticking the remote to the back of your thigh, where you can't switch it off. It's a low setting, just enough to keep you on edge, to make your body desperate to come even as your biological needs grow sharper.

You whimper when he stands to leave, the pain and self loathing and naked loneliness in your eyes making his chest ache. König hates to leave you, to make you wait for his touch again, his attention, his company- but he learned through the military how mind-breaking loneliness can be, how much it can twist a person up, to be left on the outside. The way it can make a hardened man break down and beg for the touch of a hand, a comforting voice. A tongue on your clit and his cock in your mouth.

"I love you," he promises, and he's said this phrase enough he thinks you understand it. Or at least, your heart does, and he rubs his thumb over your thumping pulse, pressing into it briefly, steeling himself against your whining when he closes and locks the door of your little room.